The exit of this short tunnel was a naturally formed aqueduct bridge, under which a dark river flowed turbulently. Crossing this natural stone bridge, the terrain ahead suddenly opened up. Bathed in a hazy, dull light from an indiscernible source, lay clusters of ancient architecture, whose scale and layout were momentarily impossible to discern. We couldn't tell which dynasty or era these carved beams and painted pillars belonged to; we only knew their style was exceptionally archaic, making it unimaginable that such a complex of ancient halls was buried within this Hundred Eyes Cave.

Amidst this classical, grim cluster of residences and halls, numerous dark figures seemed to move back and forth, with the murmur of voices audible both near and far. Though the buildings were ancient, they showed no sign of ruin or decay, suggesting they were still inhabited. The three of us stared, dumbfounded, wondering if we had truly entered the netherworld where the spirits of the dead congregate. We even began to doubt whether we were alive or already dead, otherwise, how could we witness such an underworld scene?

Seeing the water beneath the stone bridge, I quickly crouched down and splashed several handfuls of cool water onto my face. The groundwater was bone-chillingly cold; this was certainly no wandering dream—everything before my eyes was undeniably real.

Fatty and Ding Sitian followed suit, washing their faces with the cold water. Fatty remarked, "This aqueduct bridge reminds me of home, far away in Fujian. In the mountain caves there, we have a natural stone archway formed by an underground waterfall. The locals call it the Immortal Bridge, but back then, Old Hu spread malicious rumors, insisting the bridge was formed by an immortal urinating... Up ahead looks like the courts of the Underworld. Once we step inside, who knows if we'll ever get a chance to go home and see that Immortal Bridge again. Let's just prepare ourselves mentally to post big-character slogans against Ox-Head and Horse-Face in the underworld."

I noticed Ding Sitian's expression had turned somber; perhaps Fatty mentioning home reminded her of her hometown, Beijing. At that time, I didn't understand how intensely people cling to the homes they grew up in under immense pressure. Gazing into the hazy expanse deep within the cavern, I sighed and said to Ding Sitian and Fatty, "What home is there to return to? Our parents are either under investigation and isolation or sidelined. Our houses have all been sealed. Since revolutionaries take the world as their responsibility, from now on, all four seas are our home..." As I spoke, an inexplicable fire surged within me. Gritting my teeth, I stood up and urged Fatty and Ding Sitian, "We have utterly buried the revisionists and imperialists; what is there to fear from the courts of the underworld or the King of Hell! Since we've come this far, we won't turn back until we find Old Sheepskin. I say we just go straight over there; let's see what this ghost city is all about."

The cold water revived the three of us, and we began walking into the gray shadows, singing protest songs about concentrating firepower against the gangsters. Ghostly lights drifted along the cavern walls—actually phosphorescence. As living human yang energy approached, green, ghostly fireballs flickered, appearing and vanishing with our movements. Relying on the tragic heroism welling up in our hearts, we dared to proceed deeper. But the closer we got to that cloud-shrouded city, the weaker our footing became, as if we were treading on cotton batting, sinking and rising unpredictably, making it hard to maintain balance.

I cursed myself inwardly for being useless—how could my legs turn weak from just walking? If I were really facing bayonets in a life-or-death struggle on the battlefield of the Third World War to liberate all humankind, wouldn't I end up wetting my pants from fear?

Just then, a vague, gray silhouette drifted straight toward us. The three of us were startled and quickly staggered aside. A gust of cold wind blew through the cavern entrance, and the figure immediately flashed into the darkness and disappeared. With the strange wind, the expanse of buildings, previously illuminated by shifting lights and shadows, vanished instantly, leaving only the flickering ghostly fires among the rock crevices. We were astonished: "Did we just encounter a Ghost Market?" Fatty waved his arms, feeling around the spot where the figure had vanished, and exclaimed, "How did it burrow into the earth?"

I felt my feet become even less steady and quickly pulled Sitian and Fatty to lean against the rock wall. Only then did I realize my legs weren't weak from fear, but because the ground was uneven; every step landed on many rounded stones, making it easy to lose balance. The cavern floor was obscured by a thin layer of vapor, and every footstep sank into it, obscuring whatever we were stepping on. I reached down to feel the ground, wanting to know what exactly it was.

Ding Sitian nervously asked what was on the ground, wondering if it was the skulls of the dead. I said dead heads weren't that large, and this felt more like the inverted bottom of a pot, surprisingly smooth to the touch. As I spoke, my fingers found a seam, and with a single pull, I actually managed to lift a large protrusion from the ground.

In a cloud of pungent dust and foul odor, I saw clearly that what I had lifted was a massive, ancient turtle shell, complete with the remains of the old turtle, which had already decomposed into dust. It seemed this underground cave had accumulated countless such turtle skeletons. Fatty and Ding Sitian were perplexed, unable to understand what was happening.

But I suddenly realized: "This is a Turtle Burial Ground—a true Turtle Burial Ground. It’s a place where ancient sea turtles come ashore to inter their bones when they sense their lives are nearing their end, exactly as described in the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Art. The corpses buried in the upper cave must have hoped to achieve ascension by borrowing the spiritual energy of this blessed burial site."

Ding Sitian asked me, "Then is this the Underworld?" I shook my head. My knowledge was extremely limited; who knew what ancient people believed. However, there is a coastal legend that says the Yuan (a large freshwater turtle) transforms into a Shen (a sea monster) upon entering the sea. An ancient Yuan climbing ashore and then entering the ocean loses its form, turning into the illusory mist of a Shenlou (mirage), creating an apparent immortal mountain at sea—actually an optical phenomenon born from the Yuan encountering sea air. The sights that the giant Yuan perceived in life generated this inscrutable sea mist, but the Qingwu tradition suggests there is no Yuan in the sea; its meaning is perhaps that the profound Taiyin energy of the sea communicates with spiritual creatures like turtles, soft-shelled turtles, and dragons.

Old turtles that have lived in the sea for millennia carry a large amount of sea essence within their shells and skeletons. Therefore, places where groups of turtles are buried must often be permeated by this sea essence. The hazy architecture we saw is highly likely the phantom appearance of the sea-dwelling congregation places of these turtles. I estimate that the local legends about the dead buried here and the Ghost Yamen are most likely misinterpretations of the illusions generated by the fluctuating sea essence within the turtle bones.

At that time, my knowledge of Qingwu was superficial, derived from idly flipping through the Sixteen-Character Yin-Yang Feng Shui Secret Art in the mountains, coupled with stories my grandfather, Hu Guohua, often told. I knew just enough to talk around the subject, but the detailed theories were beyond me. Since Fatty and Ding Sitian couldn't grasp it either, we decided to set this matter aside and continue searching the cavern, shadowed by phantoms, for Old Sheepskin.

Further inside, the cave bottom was reached. Stalactites stood densely overhead, enveloped in light vapor. Here lay a large stone bed, beneath which were many small stone coffins, each shaped like a human figure, less than half a meter long, scattered haphazardly. They were inscribed with different male and female figures; though their expressions were lively, their faces were utterly repulsive. Fatty, growing impatient, kicked over one small stone coffin. It had clearly been pried open and shut again, the lid not fitting tightly. When Fatty kicked it, the coffin tilted, and its contents rolled onto the ground—it was a dead weasel. Fatty cursed the bad luck.

I noticed that the stone slab was carved with scenes of women wearing masks performing divination and shamanic rites, with many people reverently bowing in worship. I warned Fatty not to disturb anything, suggesting this might be where the shamanesses' bodies were kept—though perhaps "bodies" wasn't the right word; the emptied husks of those women were likely props used by charlatans to deceive people using weasels. The unsettling feeling I first had upon seeing the (Witch/Shamaness) corpse shell in the secret room seemed to return now, perhaps indicating we were nearing Old Sheepskin and that bronze chest. As I was speaking to Fatty, Ding Sitian moved around to the opposite side of the stone platform and suddenly let out a soft cry. I hurried over and saw Old Sheepskin collapsed behind the stone platform, clutching the bronze chest. The flat, rectangular stone slab acted like a lid, and he had managed to push aside a gap, revealing a shaft below filled with huge bricks marked with black dragon symbols. The dragon bodies were rendered simply; without the claws, they could easily be mistaken for loaches. Sensing something unusual, I took a closer look: the dragon marks on the bricks were almost identical in form. Most puzzling was that none of the dragons had eyes. The common saying goes, "When painting a dragon, you must dot the eyes"; how could a dragon be eyeless, becoming a blind dragon? This shaft also contained layers of turtle bones, seemingly a "Golden Well" within the feng shui burial site, designed to gather the vital shengqi (living energy) from the earth's pulse. I wondered about the meaning of the painted dragons. Could the eyeless dragons be the work of the Japanese devils? But the markings didn't seem to suggest vandalism; there were no signs of deliberate scratching.

Seeing that the strange bronze chest had finally not been opened, I let out a sigh of relief. The three of us helped Old Sheepskin up, rubbing his chest and back and calling his name repeatedly until he woke up. Apparently, when he pushed open the stone slab, he was struck by the dense, oppressive energy accumulating beneath, causing him to faint. Fortunately, it was the Golden Well of an ancient tomb, and the air inside, though stagnant for years, was composed of the vital shengqi of a blessed location; otherwise, had he been hit by corpse energy, he would have lost at least two out of his three po souls.

Old Sheepskin steadied himself, still unclear how the three of us had found him. Although I had many questions for him, I noticed the intermittent cold winds in the cave; when the wind died down, the hazy residences and halls reappeared, their ghostly presence intensifying in the flickering shadows. It was clearly not a place to linger or talk, so I wanted to get everyone out quickly. But Old Sheepskin's gaze was scattered, fixed on the bronze chest on the ground: "Quickly put that bronze box into the Golden Well..." He repeated this single command over and over.

Fatty and Ding Sitian both looked at me, knowing they were waiting for me to decide whether to follow Old Sheepskin's instruction. I thought that this bane definitely could not be taken back to the pastoral region, so throwing it into the Golden Well seemed acceptable. In my haste to leave, I didn't think too deeply and nodded in agreement. Just as I was about to act, Fatty preempted me. He went over and tried to lift the bronze chest to throw it into the shaft. Unexpectedly, the chest was too ancient and fragile; the copper had been completely leached away by water and earth, and it had been dragged halfway by Old Sheepskin. The moment Fatty lifted it off the ground, the lid separated from the body of the chest with a hūlū sound, and its contents spilled onto the floor.